


I'm so bad, best that you've had

by kate_button



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Coming In Pants, Frottage, M/M, Marijuana, Oral Sex, Smoking, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 08:57:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19269958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kate_button/pseuds/kate_button
Summary: Steve doesn't like mustaches. Billy grows one because he's Like That. Steve bitches about it. A lot. Until he doesn't.





	I'm so bad, best that you've had

**Author's Note:**

> One day Kim and I were talking about Billy showing Steve gay porn for the first time and Steve being put off by the sheer number of mustaches. This happened as a result of that.
> 
>  
> 
> [On Tumblr](https://un-buttoned.tumblr.com/post/185693530609/youve-honestly-never-looked-at-a-porn-mag)

‘You’ve honestly never looked at a porn mag before?’ Billy asks, laid back, hand behind his head, ankles crossed, dragging the joint. Steve’s got his head on his belly, head all hazy from the heat and the weed and the rhythmic rise and fall as Billy breathes.

‘Not a _gay_  porn mag,’ Steve says, taking the joint when Billy offers it, hitting it deep. It’s not starting to cool off, exactly, but there’s a breeze rustling the leaves of the tree above them and Billy’s fingers are in his hair now, and Steve’s feeling. Great. 

‘Ew,’ Billy says at the implication, and Steve tucks his free hand up under Billy’s thigh, lets the weight of it pin his hand to the grass.

‘Where the hell would I have gotten my hands on a _gay porn mag_  in Hawkins, Billy?’ Steve says, passing the joint back, feeling Billy breathe it in.

‘I don’t know, Harrington, but that’s still no fucking excuse. Certainly no excuse to be looking at _straight_  porn, god, gross.’ Billy shivers a little under him, and Steve smiles, rolling his eyes. So fucking dramatic. Billy holds the joint in Steve’s face, and Steve takes it. 

‘I’m not actually gay, you know,’ Steve says, smoking. 

Billy scoffs, laughs a little. ‘Tell that to my dick. Or  _your_ dick, honestly.’ 

‘My dick is a dumbass just like the rest of me,’ Steve says, closing his eyes, letting the breeze and Billy’s breath make him float. 

Billy scratches at his scalp, laughs a little. ‘You’re not so bad. Kinda cute.’ 

‘You’re fucking high,’ Steve says, snatching the joint back out of Billy’s fingers. He clearly doesn’t need any more. 

‘It’s unacceptable,’ Billy says, sliding his hand down, under Steve’s jaw, tipping his face up to look at him. Steve opens his eyes. Billy’s so fucking hot. Steve’s so fucking stupid over him. It’s annoying. ‘that a pretty little queer like you has never jerked off to a trashy gay porn mag. There should be at least one come-spattered copy of Blue Boy tucked up under your mattress. This is making me sad, Harrington.’ 

Steve doesn’t know why the shit that gets him off about Billy gets him off, but here he is, dick perking up at Billy calling him a queer. Calling him pretty.

‘Didn’t mean to make you sad,’ Steve says, air around them getting more and more charged with every second that neither of them look away. Steve licks his lips. ‘Can try to cheer you up, if you want.’ 

It makes Billy grin, makes his pupils a little bigger. ‘How you gonna do that, baby?’ 

Steve sits up, realizes exactly how stoned he is once he’s not laying down anymore. He smashes the joint out in the grass next to them, head spinning for a second, then throws one leg over Billy’s and sits on his hips. Billy grins up at him, running his hands up Steve’s bare thighs, fingers up under the hem of his shorts. Steve’s dick gets a little harder. Nothing Billy hasn’t seen before. 

He gets up on his knees, scoots back a little, tugs at Billy’s shorts, real happy when Billy grins and lifts his hips and lets him tug them down his thighs a little. He gets his hand on Billy’s cock, holds it, ducks down and lets a little saliva gather in his mouth. Lets it drip down out of his lips, onto Billy’s cock. Billy swears, digs his fingers into Steve’s thighs. Steve looks up at him, grinning. He’s so hot. Steve loves that he gets to do this.

He jerks him off like that, with his spit, watches at Billy sweats and swears, feels his dick get harder and harder in his hand, listens to the punched out little breaths, gets a little rougher about it when Billy’s dick starts to leak a little, when his eyes go big and dark and his lips part. 

Billy’s not gonna last long, always so easy when Steve gets handsy like this, or when he’s stoned, or when they’re in public. Steve’s three for three, and Billy’s hips are starting to jump a little, thighs tense as hell under Steve’s ass. 

‘I’m, fuck,’ Billy says, eyebrows screwing up, eyes closing, licking his lips, ‘I’m gonna-’ 

Steve grins, scoots back a little, jerks him just how Billy likes when he’s this close, just until he starts to make those little noises, just until his dick starts to jump in his hand, throbbing, just until Billy says ‘Fuck, I’m-’, and then Steve swallows him down, sucks at him while Billy’s hands fly to his hair and dig in, while Billy cries out above him, whimpers, says Steve’s name, fills his mouth. 

Steve keeps Billy in his mouth, licking, gentle, until Billy starts to go soft, until he pulls him off.

‘Not gay my ass,’ Billy says, breathless, and Steve just swallows and grins at him, pulls his shorts back up, tucks his softening dick into them.

‘Feel better?’ 

‘Yeah, baby. Feel fucking spectacular, you saw to that.’ 

Steve ducks down, kisses him, lets Billy lick the taste of himself out of Steve’s mouth like he likes to do. Billy’s gross. Steve can’t get enough of him. 

‘Good,’ Steve says, and flops back into the grass next to him, touches himself through his shorts, just to take the edge off a little.

‘Still gonna bring you some old issues of Blue Boy next time we do this, though. It’s really a fucking tragedy, Harrington,’ Billy says, propping himself up on his elbow and looking down at him, smacking Steve’s hand away and shoving his own hand down Steve’s shorts. Steve’s dick jumps like it does every time it feels Billy’s fingers for the first time in more than about 15 minutes.

‘Sorry,’ Steve breathes, breath hitching. Billy knows how to touch him. Best hand jobs he’s ever had have been from Billy, get him off in like three fucking minutes if Steve lets him. Or if Billy wants to.

Billy wants to, today, on a mission. He leans down and presses his lips to Steve’s, then pulls back and just watches. Steve can’t look away, watches Billy watch him, watches how happy it makes Billy to do this, to get Steve like this. 

‘You should come,’ Billy says, conversationally, jerking him exactly the way that gets Steve off the quickest. 

Steve nods quickly, thinks that’s a great idea. ‘Yeah. Yeah, okay, keep-’ he swallows, grabs at Billy with the hand closest to him, at his own hair with the other, getting there. Close. Muscles in his belly starting to lock up. ‘Don’t, god, please, don’t-’ 

‘Not gonna stop, baby. Just come. Come on.’ 

Steve comes. Billy catches it in the hem of Steve’s tshirt. Fucking dick.

Billy smiles at him, too sweet, leans down and kisses him all gentle. ‘You’re pretty when you come.’ 

‘You’re pretty all the time,’ Steve says, breathless, watches the way it makes Billy blush a little. Fucking lives for that. Will say the sappiest shit in the world to get that blush on Billy’s cheeks. 

‘You’re fucking high,’ Billy says, but leans down and kisses him anyway. 

 

\--- 

 

‘Okay, but I don’t understand why they all have mustaches,’ Steve says, flipping through Billy’s fucking magazine. He’d brought six. Six porn magazines. All of which are now spread out on Steve’s bed in front of them.

They’re alright. Billy’s better. 

‘Because they do. It’s a look.’ 

Steve snorts, flips the page. ‘Not a good one.’ 

Steve hadn’t really been sure, honestly, that he wasn’t just, like. Straight and attracted to Billy specifically. But there's a boy, here, a _man_ , jeans undone and low on his hips, dark hair disappearing under the v of his open zipper, leaned back against a tree and looking at the camera and Steve’s mouth waters. He wants to put his face in that hair, wants to see where it goes, follow the trail of it with his mouth. 

Definitely not straight then. Makes sense. 

He looks up at Billy after a minute, and Billy’s just grinning at him, knowing as hell. Steve’s neck gets hot.

‘You may not be gay, but you’re not fucking straight, that’s for sure,’ Billy says, scooting a little closer to Steve, tucking himself up halfway up against his back, his side, kinda curling around him a little, hooking his chin over his shoulder. 

‘Yeah, clearly not.’ 

‘Good.’ 

Steve nods, getting hotter and hotter the more he looks at these photos. Not straight at all. 

‘I think you should touch yourself.’ Billy nips at his ear, speaks directly into it, breathes out his _suggestions_  into the shell of it, gives Steve goosebumps. ‘I think that you should let me watch my pretty boyfriend jerk off to gay porn for the first time, show me just how  _not straight_ you are.’ 

Steve puts his hand on his dick, closes his eyes, leans into Billy. The fact that this exact scenario is the one Billy chose to ask him to be his boyfriend is absolutely unsurprising, the most in character thing he could have ever come up with. ‘Okay.’ 

Steve can feel Billy’s grin against his neck, feels it in the kiss Billy presses there.

Billy kisses at his neck while he does it, wraps his arms around Steve’s waist and touches his belly, his chest, his nipples, watches over his shoulder while Steve touches himself. It’s hot as fuck. Another thing to add to the list, another thing he never thought he’d get off on, another thing Billy taught him about himself. 

When Steve starts to get close, when he really starts to lose himself in it, Billy tips his chin with two fingers and kisses him, takes his lips and coaxes Steve’s mouth open and licks into it, makes out with him while Steve jerks himself off. It’s not the best angle, but Steve doesn’t give a fuck. No such thing as a bad angle with Billy. 

Steve comes whimpering into Billy’s mouth, too gone to really kiss back, just lets Billy do what he wants. 

‘Got come on my magazine,’ Billy says into Steve’s mouth, and Steve shudders in his arms. 

‘You’re welcome,’ Steve says. Billy kisses him, grinning.

‘You really don’t like the mustaches?’

‘Don’t like the fucking mustaches.’ 

‘Like everything else, though,’ Billy says, feeling Steve up a little bit, playing with his nipples. 

‘Yeah, like everything else. Like you more.’ 

Billy grins into his neck again. Steve grabs at his thigh, tips his head, gives Billy permission. Gives him space. ‘You’re a fucking sap.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Steve sighs, while Billy kisses at his neck. 

 

\--- 

 

The next time Steve sees Billy - when Billy knocks on his door, stands there leaned against the door frame all casual, that slightly smug little grin on his mouth, looking like a fucking dream, like one of those models from his fucking magazines - he’s got a smattering of short blond little hairs on his top lip. Steve glares at them. 

‘What the fuck is that?’ 

Billy grins at him, slow and easy, playing dumb in the least convincing way Steve has ever witnessed. ‘Not sure what you mean, baby.’ 

‘Oh, bullshit. You know exactly what I mean.’ 

Billy gets his hands on Steve’s hips, takes a step forward and pulls Steve to him. Steve glares. Billy smiles, presses his lips to Steve’s. 

Fucking. _Mustache_. Baby mustache, sure, but. 

‘You’re a real dick, Hargrove.’ 

‘Bet I can make you like it.’ 

‘No.’ 

‘I’m not shaving it. Better for you to just get on board.’ 

‘No fucking chance.’ 

Billy grins, pulls Steve in until their bodies are pressed together. Steve’s dick responds, gets hard for Billy like he doesn’t have the stupidest fucking baby mustache on his top lip. Dumbass, just like the rest of him. 

‘Are you doing this to fuck with me?’ Steve asks, giving in, getting a handful of Billy’s ass in each hand. 

Billy nips at his neck. ‘I _really_  don’t know what you’re talking about, baby.’ 

‘You’re a fucking prick,’ Steve says, and kisses him, kisses him like it’s been two days since the last time he had Billy’s hands on him and like he hasn’t been able to think about anything else since then, kind of hates the way Billy’s scratchy stupid fucking mustache grates at him. 

Kind of. Doesn’t. Will never fucking tell Billy that. 

 

\--- 

 

After a month, it’s a real mustache. Not a very good one, yet, but Billy fucking plays with it, strokes it and grins and rubs it along the insides of Steve’s thighs when he’s down there sucking Steve’s dick or eating his ass or leaving hickeys that no one else can see. 

Steve doesn’t like it. Billy’s so fucking shameless about it, though, just like with his stupid mullet, so into it, so _clearly_ into it, that it somehow works, by sheer force of will, or something. Steve bitches about it all the time, takes the scraggly ends of it between his fingers and tugs on in, like an asshole. Because  _Billy’s_  an asshole, and he deserves it. Bitches about it tickling when Billy eats him out. Bitches about it giving him stubble burn when they make out for too long. 

It’s all bullshit, of course. Billy grins at him all smug, knows it’s bullshit, knows that Steve knows that he knows.

He  _doesn’t_  like it. Doesn’t mind how happy it makes Billy, though. Doesn’t mind it gives them something to fight about.

 

\--- 

 

After six weeks, it’s not a bad mustache, honestly. As far as mustaches go. It’s filling in, Billy takes care of it like he takes care of everything else about himself. Steve. Doesn’t mind how it looks on his face.

‘You’re staring, pretty boy.’ 

‘Yeah, well. Got something on your face.’ 

Billy grins, that slow, kinda shitty one that really gets Steve in the dick every time. ‘You like it.’ 

‘Really fuckin’ don’t,’ Steve mumbles, knows how much bullshit it sounds like.

‘You’re lying. Know you well enough to know.’ 

‘Yeah? I got a tell or something?’ 

Billy shoves Steve back on the bed and crawls up him, cages him in and looks down at him. ‘Yeah. You’re staring at my mustache and your dick’s hard.’ He puts his hand on Steve’s dick, gives it a little squeeze, just to prove it. Steve breath hitches.

‘The two are unrelated,’ he tries, sounding a little shakier than he was hoping for. 

‘Bull _shit_  they are.’ 

‘My dick’s always hard around you. Got nothing to do with your ugly fucking mustache.’ 

Billy’s grin gets a little wider, a little shittier. Steve’s dick gets a little harder. ‘You being a little shit tonight?’ 

Steve raises his eyebrows. ‘I’ll be good if you shave your mustache.’ 

Billy laughs, like he knows, like he sees right through Steve. Probably does. Usually does.

Steve doesn’t want to _be good_. Doesn’t want Billy to give him any reason to be. 

‘God, it’s so fucking  _ugly_ ,’ Steve says, reaching up, touching it with the tips of two fingers. Billy moves his head, lightning quick, nips at his fingertips and sucks both fingers into his mouth. His stupid mustache tickles.

‘Keep telling yourself that, baby. You and your dumbass dick are shitty liars.’ Billy ducks down, drags his lips up the side of Steve’s neck, makes him shiver. ‘I look fucking hot.’ 

He does. He really does. He always has. Steve doesn’t get it. He gets his hands on Billy’s ass, spreads his knees a little, gets them closer together, pulls Billy’s weight down on him. ‘You look like a fucking idiot.’ 

Billy grabs both his wrists, pins them to the bed on either side of his head, grins down at him in a way that makes Steve’s heart race and his dick jump. ‘I don’t think you believe that. I think you like it. I think you hate that you like it, and I think you talk shit to distract me so you won’t have to think about how much you like it. I think it makes your pretty dick hard, thinkin’ about the way it feels on your thighs.’ 

Steve can feel the blush on his cheeks, on his neck, on his chest. He squirms a little under Billy, and Billy squeezes his wrists, presses them into the mattress, grinds his hips down. ‘Or maybe it’s fucking _stupid_  but you’re a good enough lay that I'm willing to ignore it.’ 

‘You don’t ignore it though. You stare at it and get hard over it and gasp every time you feel it on your skin. You fucking _like_ it.’ Billy says, ducking down to nip at Steve’s bottom lip, doesn’t actually kiss him like Steve wants.

Steve bucks his hips up, annoyed and turned on and ready for Billy to shut the fuck up and fuck him already. ‘Would you shut the fuck up and fuck me already?’

‘Don’t think we’re done talking about how much you love my  _ugly fucking mustache_ yet.’ 

‘Oh my god,’ Steve bitches, tries to yank his hands out of Billy’s grip. Billy doesn’t budge, and it makes Steve’s stupid dick jump, sends a bolt of arousal straight into his belly.

‘You think I’m hot.’ 

Steve rolls his eyes. ‘Of course I think you’re hot.’ 

Billy grins, rewards him with a kiss. Not enough. ‘You think my mustache is hot.’ 

‘I think the fact that you grew a mustache just to annoy me is _annoying_.’ 

And a little charming, honestly. Billy’s so thirsty for Steve’s attention that he’ll grow an ugly fucking mustache to keep Steve feeling things about him. It’s sweet. Stupid,  _obnoxious_ , but sweet. Like Steve stood a chance of being able to ignore Billy, like he could ever look away, mustache or no mustache.

‘Yeah, but you’re fucked up. You like it when I annoy you.’ 

He’s not wrong. Doesn’t mean he has to fucking say it. ‘Like it better when you fuck me.’ 

‘Like it best when I annoy you and fuck you at the same time.’ 

‘Which is every time, jesus christ, Hargrove, are we gonna talk all fucking day?’ 

Billy kisses him, then,  _finally_ , grinds his hips down into Steve’s, squeezes his wrists. Steve kisses him back, wraps his legs around Billy’s waist, tries to move with him. Billy doesn’t seem inclined to get their pants off, doesn’t seem like he’s planning on doing anything other than exactly this, letting the heat build between them while they rub off against each other like it’s the first fucking time all over again. 

It’s hot. Likes it when Billy gets like this, so caught up in it that he’s not even gonna stop to get Steve’s clothes off. Takes a little longer, this way, couple layers of cloth between them, but the _wanting,_ the _frustration_ of it more than makes up for it. Steve can’t do anything, can just try to offer a counter for everything Billy is giving him, can only whimper into Billy’s mouth and try to roll his hips in little circles and writhe under him while Billy pretends to fuck him through his pants.

Steve wants him to fuck him for real, desperate with it, knows Billy’s not going to. Billy’s gonna do what Billy wants to do, doesn’t matter what Steve wants. It’s hot as fuck. Got his dick leaking, got his thighs tightening and his stomach jumping. Billy’s gonna make him come like this.

Steve coming makes Billy come, and once they’re both on the other side of it, wet and sticky and coming down, breathing hard, tangled up in each other, Billy finally lets go of Steve’s wrists, and Steve touches Billy’s stupid mustache, smiles when Billy kisses his fingers. 

‘You look hot,’ Steve says, and Billy smiles, ducks his head a little, kisses Steve’s shoulder.

Billy knows. Knows that Steve doesn’t hate it, knows that Steve’s just being an asshole about it. But he gets a little pink in the cheeks when Steve says shit like that to him, when Steve gives like that, and Steve lives for that blush, lives for making Billy feel like that. 

‘I know,’ Billy says, looking real happy, sounding sappy as hell, ‘you’re a terrible fucking liar.’ 

 

\--- 

 

After three months, Steve can’t really remember what Billy looked like without the mustache. It’s good, now, filled in, thick, soft, pretty.

He’s less of a shithead about it. Makes fun of it less often. Still makes fun of it, still bitches whenever Billy brings it up, just to be difficult.

‘I think I’m gonna shave it.’

Steve almost falls, getting out of the shower. Billy’s standing in front of the sink, towel around his hips, looking at himself in the foggy glass, wet hair hanging on his bare shoulders. He looks like a fucking dream. 

This puts Steve in a difficult position. On the one hand, he’s spent three entire months complaining about the mustache at every possible opportunity. On the other, Billy’s not fucking allowed to shave it. 

‘Why?’ 

Billy hitches his shoulders, looking at Steve over his shoulder in the mirror. ‘What do you care? You hate it, remember.’ 

Steve glares. Billy’s such a  _dick_. ‘Who gives a shit what I think. You like it.’ 

Billy’s lips turn up at the corners a little. ‘You don’t want me to cut it.’ 

‘I don’t give a shit what you do,’ Steve says, heart hammering in his chest a little. He absolutely does give a shit. 

Billy turns to face him, leans back against the sink. Smug. Shitty. Steve wants to get on his knees and pull that towel off him. ‘You’re such a shitty liar, baby.’ 

Billy’s mustache gets him hot. He doesn’t get it, but it’s there. He likes it. Starting to like the mustaches in Billy’s magazines, too. Wonders if this is kinda like liking dick in general, if it was always there and he just needed Billy to smack him upside the head with it, show his dumbass dick and his dumbass brain the way. He’s not thrilled about it. 

Billy smirks at him. Steve flushes.

‘Don’t cut it.’ 

Billy’s smirk turns into a grin that’s been three months in the making, and yeah. Steve deserves that. _Billy_  deserves that. 

‘Maybe I want to.’ 

‘ _Don’t_ ,’ Steve says, taking one step toward Billy. 

‘You love my _ugly fucking mustache_. You asshole. You  _love_  it.’ 

‘I’m clearly not the asshole, here. You trained me like a fucking dog to respond to shitty fucking mustaches. _You_ are the asshole.’ 

Billy grins. Steve’s dumbass dick starts to fill out a little more. ‘Convince me not to cut it.’ 

Christ. Steve drops his towel to the floor, and glares. ‘What do you want?’ 

Billy undoes his own towel, lets it fall, raises his eyebrows. Steve takes the last couple steps that separate them, looks Billy in the eyes as he gets on his knees. Billy’s dick perks right on up. 

‘Don’t cut it,’ Steve says, and then swallows Billy’s dick all the way down.

‘Motherfucker,’ Billy says, hands in Steve’s hair all of a sudden, hips jumping. Steve tries to make this the best blow job he’s ever given.

Thinks he does a damn good job, if the noises Billy’s making and his death grip in his hair and way he can’t seem to keep still and the excessive precome he’s leaking into his mouth are any indication. He knows what Billy likes, knows how to get him real gone, make him feel good.

When Billy starts to get close, Steve slows down until he whimpers, until his fingers loosen a little, then he starts in again, winds him back up.

His jaw starts to ache after a while, mouth getting tired. He doesn’t give a shit.

When Billy says please, Steve works his tongue and his lips and his fingers in tandem until Billy’s gasping above him, until his hips stutter and he swears and says Steve’s name and fills his mouth up, and Steve pulls all of it out of him, swallows it down, keeps gently tonguing at Billy until the last little twitches have stopped, just like he likes.

Then he pulls off, looks up at Billy. He’s so pretty, with his stupid fucking mullet and his stupid fucking mustache and that stupid fucking look on his face, like Steve’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. It makes Steve smile. Billy touches his cheek, real gentle. Steve leans into it.

‘Really don’t want me to cut it, huh?’ 

‘Really don’t want you to cut it, you asshole.’ 

‘You like it.’ 

Steve rolls his eyes, presses a kiss to Billy’s thigh. ‘How many times are you gonna make me say it?’ 

‘At  _least_  once,’ Billy says, running his fingers through Steve’s hair.

Steve looks up at Billy. That. Seems like a reasonable request. ‘I like it.’ 

‘I fucking _knew_ it.’ 

‘Yeah, yeah, you’re a goddamn genius. Congratulations. Keep the stupid mustache.’ 

‘Okay, baby. Since you asked  _so nicely_.’ 

 

\--- 

 

Billy keeps the mustache.


End file.
